Eighteen

Sam was one of the painter guys seen hanging around outside the church hall. But why follow Frank to Patsy’s house? Why kill him? Being mates, wouldn’t they be in this crooked deal together?

And then there was the mystery of the pink handkerchief. Sam’s name didn’t start with a K. And he sure didn’t look the type to blow his nose on anything the size and color of a Barbie evening gown. So who dropped the handkerchief? Surely Sam didn’t bring his girlfriend along when he killed Frank.

No matter how hard I tried, two and two weren’t adding up to four. Instead they were adding up to a whole heap of trouble…for Sarah, Tayla and me.

There was no way Sam would let us walk away. Once he had what he wanted, we’d be dead. I needed time to work out a plan. It was my fault we were in this mess, so it was up to me to get us out of it.

But how?

Matching Sam eyeball for eyeball I went for the big bluff.

“What if I didn’t bring the microfilm with me? What if I left it with my parents for safekeeping?”

Wrong plan.

For a big guy with a seriously fat stomach Sam certainly knew the right moves. With a dive that would do a goal-keeper proud he had his arm around Sarah’s throat before Leroy could haul himself up off the ground and show his ugly sharp teeth in a slobbering grin.

“You!” Sam barked at me. “Give me the microfilm or I break your sister’s neck.”

Sarah began to struggle but Sam grabbed one of her arms and roughly hooked it behind her back. She shot a glance at me, her mouth twisted in pain. Fear, surprise and panic showed in her eyes, making the whites around the pupils flare in the gathering darkness.

Anger shot through me like a raging fire. I wanted to run at him with a baseball bat and use his head to hit a home run. Smiling Sammy from the Weapons Research Station had tricked us completely. He’d kidnapped Tayla, got me right where he wanted me and now he had Sarah in a death-grip.

Just play it cool. Don’t do anything to upset him until he lets Sarah go.

“Okay. Okay,” I said, holding my hands out, palms up. “I brought the microfilm with me. Now, let Sarah go.” While talking I moved closer to the side of the wharf and glanced down at the moving river below. “If not,” I paused, letting the threat sink in. “I swear I’ll throw it in the river.”

I could see his conflicting thoughts as though they were tattooed across his forehead.

“You wouldn’t…”

“Try me.”

“Where is it?”

“You’ll be diving for it in about ten seconds if you don’t let my sister go.”

He pushed Sarah away from him.

“There,” he snarled, a dribble of spit stuck to the corner of his mouth. “Now get inside the warehouse and we’ll talk.”

As if.

“Run, Sarah!” I shouted, picking up a nearby fish-cage and throwing it at Sam’s head. I could see Sarah staggering to regain her balance. “Split up! Run! You get the police and I’ll find Tayla.”

“I wouldn’t advise that, Chiana.” The new voice coming from behind us was silky soft with a hint of steel and dripped with menace. “Move and you’re both dead.”

I froze in mid-stride. The word ‘dead’ bouncing around in my head like one of those nightmares you have after pigging out on pizza. Every nerve jangled. Every muscle was on high alert. And I had a cramp right where my heart was busy running an Olympic marathon.

“Cha,” Sarah whispered, her voice rustier than an old iron gate. “P-please don’t move.”

As if.

“Now turn around slowly.” The voice was vaguely familiar, yet I couldn’t place it.

Slower than a tortoise with his legs tied together I inched around to confront the owner of the chilling voice.

A young guy in black jeans and black tee-shirt, looking more like a high-school football star than a mean, side-winding, two-bit, sneaky crook, stared back at me.

For a moment, as recognition dawned, I felt a sense of joyful relief. Then I zeroed in on the gun and realized it was pointed straight at my head. Disappointment was like being whacked in the stomach with an iron bar.

“Constable Roberts?” My voice cracked into little pieces as I said his name. This couldn’t be happening. Scary things like this only happened in books or movies—and always to other people.

“But why?” I croaked. “You’re supposed to be one of the good guys.”

“And what do good guys get out of life?” He sneered. “Hard work and poor pay. That’s all. This little caper will earn me more money than I’d earn in ten years on the police force.”

I found myself staring at a face harder and more lethal than a sharp jagged rock. There was no sign of goodness in Nick Roberts now. What happened to the nice looking cop with the twinkle in his eye?

“But I liked you,” I bleated. “And Tayla thought you looked cute.”

Sam guffawed. “Yeah. Cute as a man-eating shark.”

Nick turned on Sam. “Shut your face, clown. I told you to trick the brat into giving you the microfilm—and what have you done—brought three kids to the wharf.” Clearing his throat he spat noisily on the ground. “Take them into the office with the other brat and tie them up while I work out what to do.”

“Okay, okay,” said Sam. “Don’t blow a fuse.”

“And for God’s sake get the microfilm from her. Or do I have to do everything myself?”

“Everything?” Sam’s stomach bounced off the edge of a forty-four gallon drum as he flung himself forward to push us through the doorway. “You didn’t kill my mate, did you? Ya gave me that dirty job.”

“Frank grew greedy. He had to go. And no-one but you could have got close enough to stab him.” Nick’s lip curled into a grim reaper smile. “Hey, enough of this soap opera drama. Get the kids into the office.”

Sarah grabbed for my hand. It felt cold, yet sweaty. I grabbed back, thankful for the contact as we were herded into the warehouse. Our feet echoed eerily in the silence and the dark threatened to smother us; making it hard to breathe, hard to walk. My legs were so shaky they threatened to give away from under me.

Not much bigger than our laundry at home, the “office” was lit by a globe that cast more shadow than light and made the room as welcoming as a graveyard. The furniture consisted of a scarred table, an old metal filing cabinet, and three wooden chairs. Tayla, her arms and legs bound with rope, slumped in the chair nearest the door.

“Tayla!” I cried, rushing forward. “Are you okay? Have they hurt you?”

Her answer was too soft to hear. I’d never seen Tayla look so shocked. For a moment her eyes lit up when she saw me, then they went dull again.

“Give me the microfilm,” Sam demanded, his expression ugly.

“What if I lost it on the way over here?” My defiant mouth said these words while my heart skittered up into my throat.

“Cha—give it to him. Please.”

Sarah’s cry and Sam’s fist hit me in the face at the same time, sending me reeling against the corner of the table. Yellow stars swum before my eyes as I shook my head and wiped the blood from my mouth.

“I’ll repeat it one more time, kid. And if I don’t get the right answer I’ll call Nick in here. He’ll shoot off all your fingers—one at a time.” He paused while my nervous fingers shook so hard I had trouble reaching for the string around my neck. “So what’s it to be?”

I untied the string, put the pink handkerchief in my pocket and handed him the small cartridge. How I wished I’d never looked in Patsy’s pocket.

The bones in my legs felt like they’d melted and were refusing to hold me up. I slumped onto one of the empty chairs and touched my sore mouth with the tip of one finger. I needed a plan.

Sam pulled two lengths of rope from inside the filing cabinet. After tying Sarah to one chair he began attaching me to the other.

“Can I ask you something, Sam?” I asked as he looped the rope around my wrists.

His only answer was to pull the rope a fraction tighter.

Call it stubbornness or confusion or just plain P.I. orneriness. I had to know. “Why did you shift Frank’s body?”

“Dunno what ya talking about,” he grunted, bending to tie my ankles to the chair legs. “Now shut up or I’ll plug your mouth with a gag.”

After tying the rope so tight it was digging into my flesh, he stood, flexed his fingers and looked around the room. Then he began to snigger.

“Hey, look at that fierce guard dog of yours.”

Leroy was under the table, stretched out on his back, legs in the air, fast asleep.

“Wooohooo!” Sam sneered. “Ya dog’s got me trembling in me boots.” Still chuckling he left the room and shut the door behind him.

All I could hear was the loud thumping of my heart, Leroy’s snores and the wailing sound of either a fire engine or an ambulance fading away in the distance.

Already the ropes were biting into my skin. My shoulders were telling me they weren’t happy with the shape they’d been forced into behind the chair. And I felt so guilty about dragging Sarah and Tayla into this mess that I couldn’t look at them.

Tasting blood, I licked my swollen lips and forced myself to speak.

“Tayla, I’m sorry I got you into this mess.”

She grunted.

Taking that as “apology accepted,” I continued. “How did they trick you into coming here?”

Tayla’s voice was so soft I had to strain to hear her. “Sam said he had something to show us and that you were already here waiting for me.”

“How did he find you?”

“I was coming out of the mall after school and he was waiting there in the van.” She sniffed loudly and looked ready to cry. “I can’t believe I was stupid enough to get in the van with him.”

“You think you’re stupid. What about me? I let Sarah talk me into letting her come too. Now we’re all in the poo.”

Sarah was sitting rigid in the chair opposite me, her face pale, her Princess-like hair in uncharacteristic tangles. She stuck out her lower lip.

“I would’ve followed you anyway,” she said. “Why should you have all the adventures?”

“Some adventure, eh?” I rolled my eyes at her.

“Chiana,” she said, her voice barely a whisper, her lips trembling as her bravado began to fade. “Do you reckon we’ll get out of this alive?”

The way the bottom was falling out of my stomach I had my doubts.